


I Am the Blinking Light

by dearmrsawyer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ghost Louis, M/M, shipwrecked harry, so you aren't faced with anything super upsetting i promise, there's implications of a main character dying but it happens off screen, you don't see any death i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6175759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearmrsawyer/pseuds/dearmrsawyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a legend of a lighthouse far out to sea. It can’t be found on any map, and those who do find it never return. They say a ghost haunts the lighthouse, and you can hear it calling out in loneliness on the ocean waves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am the Blinking Light

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started six months ago and the story's been with me for a few years longer so i'm excited and a little nervous to finally be putting it out into the world! I hope any who find themselves here enjoys it. 
> 
> I need to give huge thanks to my betas, [Bel](seschat.tumblr.com) and [Carlie](alwaystyles.tumblr.com), both of whom have listened to me go on about this fic for months and read through it with great advice that made sure this work was the best that it could be.

There is a legend of a lighthouse far out to sea. It can’t be found on any map, and those who do find it never return. They say a ghost haunts the lighthouse, and you can hear it calling out in loneliness on the ocean waves.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Harry had never seen a storm worse than this.

The high winds caught his sails and pulled him dangerously across the surface of the sea, lifting him enough to skim the waves beneath. The sky was dark, save for the occasional flash of lightning along one of the horizons. There was nothing but water in any direction, and Harry had dropped his compass; he couldn’t see a thing. The gust momentarily took a breath and he dropped back into the water, his stomach loose and turning inside.

Water washed high on either side, soaking the deck as he tried to reel in the bloated sail before the next big wind. His breathing grew more erratic with each watery splutter and he couldn’t tell how much the boat shifted every time he closed his eyes.

Harry knew he’d lost his bearings.

It had been two weeks since his last port and Harry had never been out this far. It was supposed to be an adventure – something new and bold and bigger than the sailing he’d done in the past. It was supposed to be taking the next step after years on the water and enough experience for a sailor twice his age.

He’d lost sight of land plenty of times, but he’d never travelled an expanse of ocean this big before. He had no idea the waves could get _this_ big, and his experience was suddenly and quiet blatantly insufficient.

Every few minutes another flash of light turned the sky momentarily white, but he couldn’t see where the sky met the sea over the tumultuous water rising up all around him. His clothes hung heavy like a second skin of lead; they dragged him down when the deck tipped sideways and made his movements sluggish. He felt like he was already running under water.

The rope in his hands felt like it held the weight of the entire ocean and if it weren’t for the numbing lash of the winds, Harry was sure his muscles would’ve been burning. As it was, he could barely feel anything other than the sting of water in his eyes and the violent flap of the sails as they caught every atmospheric heave. 

Harry thought he could feel rain, but it was hard to tell with the constant spray of wave after wave crashing into the hull of his modest boat. His hair sat heavy against his ears and neck, and sound became muffled and throbbing.

He looked up to the moonless expanse above – wasn’t even sure he _was_ looking up as the boat rocked on a dangerous axis – and couldn’t remember how long it had been night.

His mouth tasted of salt and his palms burned – he was sure they’d lost their skin – and Harry was beginning to feel closed in with panic. He was completely, utterly alone.

The rudder gave a harsh stutter and the tiller was ripped out of his hand when Harry heard a crunch beneath his feet. He pulled on the tiller again but it came too easily, and he knew the rudder had broken, ripped off by something under the water.

Another wave knocked hard into the starboard side and Harry’s feet slipped as he held fast to the rope. Blinking furiously, he watched the water wash back down to sea level where it began to build again. He looked around helplessly, breath coming faster, wishing for some sort of aid in amongst the unceasing sea, and felt utterly hopeless even as he prayed.

Water splashed into his eyes and he squinted into the darkness – suddenly a little less dark. A soft glow fluttered between the waves, pulsing, almost warm, and for a moment Harry thought it was an illusion. That he’d swallowed too much sea water and his lungs were filling up, his mind offering an easy end.

Harry tried to keep it in sight, his heart pounding every time it was lost behind a wave or he had to squeeze his eyes free of salt. But through it all the light remained – in fact, it seemed to move. A gentle rotation, as if spinning in place, and it got brighter, less illusory, still there.

Harry had almost no idea where he was; the one thing he did know was that he was nowhere near a port. The source of the light wasn’t moving, so it couldn’t be another ship. The only other explanation was land, but not any land his maps had shown.

His boat gave another violent shudder and dragged forward, the wind catching his sail. Harry tried to hold onto the rope but it dug into the flesh of his arm as the wind grew too strong. His feet bounced on the deck and with another lurch the boat was rocked forward, almost tipping on its nose.

He could hear the splinter of wood as his boat was stripped from beneath, and the water only grew more vicious – less of the big swells, more frequent hits. He heard the rope whip through the pulleys as the sail stretched to its full capacity, tight and swollen and threatening to tip the boat on its head with the next wave. Harry couldn’t get it back under control and with his knees to the deck he wasn’t sure he had much chance if he remained. He only had one choice, and it was lit up right in front of him.

Crawling as fast as his slippery limbs would move, Harry ducked into the cabin and across the slick floor, reaching for the knapsack hanging on the wall. His belongings were already inside as he rarely unpacked it, even for long stretches out on the open water. He slid over to the cupboard, its doors rattling on their hinges, and pulled all the scraps of food he could fit into the bag. Loose apples rolled out as the boat around him swayed, but Harry let them go – there wasn’t time. He also grabbed his canteen and the crumpled coat on his bed before fastening the bag tight and slinging it across his back.

The boat was still jutting forward when Harry re-emerged from the cabin, shielding his eyes against the water coming in from all sides. He could still see the steady swing of the light, but he was much closer now; it seemed the current was pulling him in a very clear direction.  He was now close enough to see that the light was being projected from a lighthouse, the small hunk of rock it sat upon silhouetted against the flash of lightning behind it. It stood on a ledge that grew higher as he got closer, and while it was difficult to see Harry couldn’t spot any docks.

The lighthouse completed another rotation and when the beam reached him, Harry could see that the cliff dropped off lightly, curving down into scattered rock pools that stretched out into the sea. The waves were too wild for him to determine how far out they went, but he was willing to bet they formed the reef currently tearing at his boat.

Harry wasn’t sure how exactly he ended up clinging to the cliff. He remembered losing his footing and being briefly airborne before the water caught him. He heard the violent splinter of his boat as he resurfaced, and could do little more than watch as it crashed into the rocks he’d managed to miss. He washed into one of the shallow rock pools, skidding over a ridge that sliced down his arm and burned in the sea salt. The pool overflowed and more water rushed in but Harry moved with it until he was at the slope beneath the lighthouse. Its beam moved in the opposite direction and dropped him into complete darkness as he clung to the rocks, shivering and gasping for breath.

He waited for the beam to swing back around, glinting off the textured edges of the cliff, and he could see where to grip. The slope was gentle enough, and he managed to climb a few feet before the light disappeared again, leaving him to wait while water crashed at his legs, occasionally reaching his waist and washing up his body. His knapsack was dead weight on his back, and when he chanced lifting one foot up in the darkness it slid against a loose stone and he almost dropped.

Harry didn’t know how long it took, but it was five rotations of the lighthouse before he could feel the fringe of grass at the top of the cliff, and his fingers were slippery as they fisted deep into the blades, giving him leverage to lift himself onto even ground. He’d lost a shoe and his hands were stinging, probably bleeding, but his breath was already coming easier. Before his knees had a chance to buckle he rolled onto his back and lay still, the hump of his knapsack propping him up, and he could feel the light spray of rain that he’d mistaken for high-reaching sea spray on his face.

The waves were still crashing below and the sound swelled in his ears as if he were still down there, but his lungs were clear and his chest expanded with ease, eyes watching the light continue to swing above.

The lighthouse was modest, appearing much smaller now that he lay at its base, and there was a rail running around the balcony at the very top. He couldn’t see anyone from his position down here, but he wanted to go inside and see who he had to thank for saving him from the storm.

Just as he sat up and wobbled to his feet, Harry dropped into darkness again as the lighthouse went still and flickered out. Its silhouette was still lit by the occasional flash of lightning in the distance, but the structure itself was without life.

It was suddenly colder without the comforting beam swinging overhead, and Harry shielded his eyes from the drizzle, the soaking weight of his knapsack cutting into his shoulders. Harry instinctively ducked beneath the aggressive crack of thunder, moving quickly to the lighthouse as his shoe-less foot sank deeper into the soaking ground with every step.

The lighthouse was only a few yards in front of the cliff, and Harry jumped the knee-high stone fence separating it from the grass, feeling the slide of gravel under his feet. He circled the building, searching for a way in, but there was nothing until he reached the other side. The base of the lighthouse was connected to a small, stone cabin and he slammed his fist against the door, calling out.

“Hello? Hello, anybody?”

No response. Harry huddled against the door and knocked again, hair sticking to his cheeks and curling into his mouth as he called out again.

“Please? Hello! Is anyone there?”

Harry wondered if the wind was washing out his voice. He gripped the handle and hoped the lighthouse keeper wouldn’t be too offended if he let himself in.

The door was heavy, almost lodged in place, and Harry pulled hard, feeling the heavy wood swing with his force. He hurried inside, struggling to latch the door back in place against the howling wind.  

His hair hung in weighted clumps and his one shoe gave an exposing squelch with every step. Harry’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the enclosed darkness of the room. He could see slivers of night around the edges of the door and windows on either side, and he stepped forward as shapes started to emerge all around. He scanned for any signs of life, breath shallow as he listened, but everything was utterly still.

“Hello, is there anybody here?”

Harry pulled a hair tie from one of the small pouches of his knapsack and pulled his dripping hair off his face, wringing it out and fastening it high on his head.

He dropped the knapsack on a spindly table as he stepped into the base of the lighthouse, eyes still searching. There were no other doors beside the one from the cabin; the only other thing occupying the space was the beginning of a spiral staircase.

Harry’s eyes trailed up the centre of the stairs into the blackness at the very top, giving one more experimental call.

“Uh, hello?”

His voice bounced around the concrete column and he listened carefully for any responsive sounds. There was only the odd creak that had his eyes shooting around, paranoid, but no voices other than his own.

Curiosity still thrummed in his quickly beating heart, and Harry placed one hand on the rail, his wet hand sticking to the thick layer of dust and grime that had built up over who knew how long. It stung, slotting into the grazes the cliff had left on his palm, and he rubbed it gingerly against his thigh before starting to climb the stairs. Although the lighthouse hadn’t looked very big from outside, the stairs wound up more than Harry expected and he was puffing lightly by the time he reached the top.

The balcony was open air and a sheet of rain blew smooth across his drying face. Harry stepped into the watch room in the centre where the lantern was housed. The sky flashed intermittently, exposing the yellowed, heavily rusted globe that had drawn him in. When Harry let his hand rest against the casing it was cool, giving no signs of recent life. Looking at the mechanics connected to the lantern, he saw that they were all corroded far beyond use, exposed to the elements and with no clear power source. He ran a finger along the piping and it came back tinged red with corrosion.

The entire balcony was visible from within the watch room and Harry could clearly see that he was alone. That was no sign of anyone at all, but his confusion was overtaken only by his exhaustion, prompting him to descend the tower once more and hope that whoever lived here would reveal themselves in the morning. Perhaps they’d even show him how the lantern worked.

His knapsack sat right where he’d left it, and Harry moved back into the cabin where he spotted an old, lumpy single bed. It creaked unreliably when he lowered himself, but Harry couldn’t care less if it collapsed under him during the night. It was dry, and the dusty, hole-riddled blanket would help. He stripped out of his outer layers, only keeping his underwear on as he bundled himself up, lying down and letting his eyes slip closed, breathing in the stale scent of the quilting beneath his head.

***

Harry’s back was aching and he couldn’t feel his right arm. Squeezing his eyes as tight as possible, he shifted around until he was flat on his back, letting his arm free from beneath his body. After a few minutes it started to tingle, and then slowly buzz as feeling returned.

His surroundings swam into view before the memories of last night returned, and Harry gave the room a confused survey before he remembered where he was. His clothes sat in a damp pile on the floor, and the blanket pulled over his shoulder was stained red where his gash had bled through. A thick scab had hardened over the wound, and his hands were rough with dried dots of blood, but at least they didn’t sting anymore.

He stood up after a thorough stretch, taking in the room now that it was visible. The walls were stone and the floor was cement, scattered with dust and dried grass that had likely blown in with him last night. The thick wooden door matched two other doors across the room, as well as the window hatches blocking the view of what looked like a sunny morning. All of this was fine, however everything seemed to have shifted around since Harry had fallen asleep.

The bed was no longer against the wall, but a few feet away, the table holding his knapsack was across the room at an odd angle and some of the fruit seemed to have spilled out of his bag.

None of the windows, nor the door, had blown open, so it wasn’t likely the wind was to blame. He recalled his strange isolation the night before and wondered if the lighthouse keeper had returned. Harry gathered his things back together, shaking out his trousers and pulling them on despite not being completely dry, and headed towards the base of the lighthouse.

“Hello?” he called up the spiral staircase, half expecting the silence that answered.

He returned to the cabin and tested the other two doors. One led to what looked like a modest kitchen with a long bench on one side, and a few drawers with an assortment of bowls and utensils. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust like it had been undisturbed for a very long time, and Harry frowned.

The other door led to an even smaller room full of barrels. Most of them were sealed shut but there was one that shifted slightly when he leant against it, something sloshing heavily inside. Harry lifted the lid to reveal a dark liquid and recognised the odour – oil.

Still very clearly alone, Harry left the oil room and opened up his knapsack, emptying it out onto the table. He catalogued everything he’d managed to grab from his boat before it went down but there wasn’t much – a canteen, his damp coat, a compass, a box of matches, a few apples and oranges, some waterlogged bread and a tin of nuts and dried fruit. Feeling uneasy in someone else’s space, he bit into an apple and unlatched the front door, stepping outside into a bright, breezy day.

The storm had evaporated overnight, and Harry was able to walk the entire island by the time he finished his apple. It was even smaller than it had seemed last night, and Harry vaguely took in that there was nothing more than the lighthouse and some thick errant shrubbery. The main thing he noticed was that it also didn’t seem to hold a lighthouse keeper, which made the lighthouse’s brief activity yesterday all the stranger. 

Tossing his apple core over the cliff, Harry followed its trajectory and stepped forward, looking down at the rocks he’d climbed last night. He held a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked into the reflective waters below, but there was no sign of his boat. He followed the cliff, eyes scanning the rock pools. He was sure his boat must’ve beached somewhere against the island. It had been pushed too far in for the tide to carry it back out.

Harry’s stomach gave a nauseous swoop when he spotted a few familiar planks of wood floating in one of the larger rocks pools. His eyes followed a trail of similar wreckage strewn across the rocks, light blue and chipped, and a few more pieces floating out on the now-calm seas.

He dropped to the grass.

That boat had been with him for years – longer than any of the people who’d flitted in and out of his life. It had carried him all over, braved every storm—well, almost every storm. Now it was gone.

Emotion started to pool in his stomach, swirling up in between his ribs and putting pressure on his heart. He knew it was only a boat, but it wasn’t just the closest thing he’d had to home in the last few years; looking out at the endless horizon, he knew it had been his only way off this place.

Something glinted just above his eye line and Harry’s head snapped up. It hadn’t been the sun, which was currently hanging behind him – it had come from the top of the lighthouse. Squinting, he could see that the lantern was just as immobile as last night, and there was no one at the balcony.

He could’ve sworn there’d been a figure.

After a few more minutes of wallowing, Harry found his own feet carrying him up the lighthouse tower, perhaps because he really wasn’t sure what else to do.

Ascending the spiral stairs, Harry ran a hand along the walls, the concrete rough from dried sea salt. The watch room was open air, wind brushing Harry’s hair back as he stepped onto the platform surrounding the glassed-in lantern room.

Inside, the lantern was still, lenses browned from rust, and if Harry didn’t know better he would’ve said there was no way it could’ve moved in years. Idle fingers traced the scrapes marking the lantern’s rotation, and he followed a few conduits down the base, along the floor and across to the generator.

Harry wrapped a hand around one of the levers, corrosion rough against his palm, and put all his weight into it, but it wouldn’t give. It looked like it hadn’t been used in his lifetime, and certainly shouldn’t have been working the night before.

Stepping outside the lantern room, Harry braced his arms on the railing and buried his face against his bicep, taking one deep, shuddering breath to keep himself composed. He wasn’t sure why he was trying so hard to keep a collected demeanour – there was no one to put up a front for, other than himself. The winds were high all the way up here and dried his eyes quickly, whipping his hair back to give him a clear view of the empty horizon. Now that he thought about it, Harry wasn’t even sure which direction he’d come from.

There was a weighted creak and Harry spun around. He was still alone, the lantern still very much out of use, but he inched forward, sure the lens had been facing his direction a moment ago.

Sniffing back the emotion that had seconds earlier been bubbling in his throat, Harry let a hand rest against the outer shell of the lantern, giving it a twist. His hand slid around the surface as the lantern refused to give. Just as he turned towards the balcony he heard it again, that same creak, and whipped back to see the lantern had _definitely_ rotated slightly.

He tried pulling on the lever a second time, even reaching down to crank a few of the generator’s other pulleys, but all to no avail. He let go with a frustrated puff and wiped at his nose, bracing his hands on his hips.

“What’s going on?” he half-shouted, volume diminished in the wind. He received no answer, just another mysterious creak.

He turned away and back once more, twice more, but the lantern didn’t move. He walked back to the stairs, continually looking over his shoulder, but while the tingling sensation of his skin lingered, nothing else moved. His eyes were on the lantern until he descended the stairs and it slipped out of sight, and he kept his steps soft and his ears peeled, but there didn’t seem to be any more movement above.

His heart beat in double time and his eyes snapped from side to side as he walked quickly through the cabin and outside. He was unnerved, a little uneasy, and more than a little worried about his own state of mind, but it all fell away when he reached the cliff.

His eyes followed the sad trail of wreckage that had been his boat and he tipped his head back, gaze lifting to the sky. How was he going to get out of here?

Harry had never been one for self-pity. He hadn’t ended up on a solitary trip around the world because things got too hard and he’d decided to pack it in. Harry always had a next step – sometimes it was made up on the spot, and sometimes it was the last thing he’d have ever expected to do, but he always carried on. Standing here, looking at an empty ocean, Harry had no idea what his next step would be.

He sat. He sat for a long time, and for some of it his head was full of thoughts, of possible escapes or miracles or contingencies. But for the rest of it his mind was completely clear, wilfully unaware of his predicament, wholly focused on the sound of the waves lapping below.

When Harry next blinked himself into present-mindedness the sun had shifted significantly in the sky and begun its descent.

His stomach rumbled, and he walked back to his belongings, all laid out just outside the cabin, crunchy from the ocean and finally dry.

Harry knew his rations and water were limited so instead of reaching for another apple, he pulled on his coat to shield himself from the growing afternoon winds and decided to do a more thorough lap of the little island.

The island was small, the entire circumference visible from any point, and Harry traced the cliff with his steps. He had climbed the tallest point last night, typical of his luck, but in other parts the grass ducked down until it was almost level with the sprawling rock pools, and Harry skipped, light-footed, across the edges, ducking down to pick up a rock and toss it into the incoming wave that skimmed over the pools, filling them to overflowing. He hopped back onto the grass to save his feet from getting wet and continued on.

Scattered shrubbery littered the island, and on closer inspection Harry saw that they bore a variety of berries. He picked a few, filling the deep pockets of his coat to try later. They may do some good.

After he checked all the bushes, depositing each type of berry into a different pocket so he would be able to tell them apart later, Harry returned to the lodge and found a few dusty bowls in the even dustier kitchen. Wiping them clean with his sleeve, he filled them with berries and set them aside.

Heading back outside to bring in the rest of his now-dry belongings, Harry jumped when the door slammed dramatically behind him. Harry tried to open it back up, only to have the knob lock under his fingers. He twisted and pulled but his fingers simply slipped over the ridged metal, unable to pull the door free.

Harry pursed his lips and gripped the knob with both hands, resting one foot against the doorframe and pulling as hard as he could. His voice strained high in his throat, crescendoing into a cry when the door swung free and he flew backwards, landing hard on the ground. He braced his hands behind himself, chest heaving as he watched the door sit quite at rest, and felt his fingertips begin to tingle with unease just as they had before. The wind quieted to leave the day silent, punctuated only by the sound of Harry puffing quick breaths, and a little tremor of fear thrummed in his veins.

He didn’t know what this place was – why it wasn’t on his maps and why everything seemed to have a life of its own – and he wanted nothing more than to rush back to his boat and sail himself back to known parts of the world. But, dusting off his palms and swallowing the wedge of self-pity in his throat, Harry had no boat, and soon no sunlight. Whatever this place may be, it was all he had for now, and he needed to find a way to stave off the darkness in case the night was even more unsettling than the day.

He quickly gathered his things from outside as the sun brushed the horizon, and rummaged around in the kitchen cupboards for some candles. The light would fade soon enough and Harry didn’t want to be stuck in complete darkness again.

He didn’t find any candles, but a small oil lamp in one of the cupboards would do just as well. Momentarily puzzled, he remembered the bounty of oil in the room next door. He lit the wick with one of his matches – thankfully dry once more – and felt the warm glow wash pleasantly over his face. The rest of the room suddenly chilled in comparison.

With the light around the window hatches steadily fading, Harry thought it might be nice to see the sunset from the watch room – just one simple pleasure of being stranded at a lighthouse. He took the lantern and one of the bowls of berries from the kitchen before making his way to the base of the tower.

He started up the stairs, rolling one of the pink berries between two fingers. It was plump, full of juice, with a sweet sheen visible in the lamp light.

“I wouldn’t eat those if I were you,” came an unannounced voice.

Harry whipped around to see a pearly figure hovering over the bottom step, one ankle crossed over the other and eyebrows raised above half a smirk, and promptly passed out.

***

When Harry came to, the first thing he felt was an ache in the back of his head. His pulse was pounding at the point of pain and he reluctantly opened his eyes, one hand coming up to touch gingerly at his skull. His vision slowly came into focus, and the first thing he saw was the last face he’d seen just before losing consciousness.

His head spun and if he hadn’t already been lying flat on his back, Harry would’ve collapsed a second time.

A pair of sharp eyes were looking down at him under a swept fringe, mouth half quirked in a mixture of amusement and guilt. “Alright there?”

Harry scrambled up and backed away until he was sitting against the opposite wall, chest heaving and one hand resting against the back of his head. He felt dizzy and let one eye slipped closed, keeping the other firmly on the hallucination crouched across from him.

“I’m not a hallucination,” it said, and Harry groaned, resting his forehead against one of his knees.

“Oh hey, you okay? You took a bit of a fall – only out for a few seconds though.”

When Harry looked up the figure was now kneeling – without touching the ground? – right in front of him, and if not for the hand resting against his skull he would’ve flinched hard enough to double the damage to his already pounding head.

“W-what—” Harry stammered, shoulders pushing back to distance himself from this… boy?

He looked like a boy. His face was young – maybe a couple of years older than Harry, but still full of youth – and he was slender with sharp features that seemed to haze at the edges. His mouth was still tilted in amusement but his eyebrows dipped with some level of concern. The fact that Harry could determine all of this was miraculous, given that the boy was bright grey all over, and partially transparent since Harry could see the lantern lying on its side by the stairs, still giving a warm glow visible through the boy’s torso.

“Are you…” He felt like such a fool even thinking it, and doubly so when the words had left his lips. “Are you a—ghost?”

“Now don’t tell me I’m your first ghost!” The floating figure crossed its legs, gripping its own ankles and leaning in eagerly. “I’m honoured.”

Harry felt a little faint. “Are there other ghosts?”

“Well, not sure to be honest. Never seen any meself but – big world out there, innit? Or at least, I think it is. Not sure about that either.”

His words were so quick and nonchalant, Harry couldn’t help but stare, dumbstruck; he wasn’t exactly sure what one was supposed to say when meeting a ghost.

“What’s your name?” he settled on, trying to keep his voice steady.

The ghost raised its eyebrows, almost like it was impressed, and Harry couldn’t help feeling a little gratified at that.

“I’m Louis, resident ghost of this lighthouse.” He spread his arms wide and they moved with an airy grace, floating back into his lap. “And what about you? Don’t say ‘crazy’, ‘cause I’ve been told that lie before.”

Harry gaped a little at the fact that Louis had read the reel of ‘I’m crazy’ looping through his head, and when he answered, “I… ‘m Harry,” Louis’ eyes crinkled pleasantly.

“Well young Harold,” Louis rocked in place, “sorry for giving you a scare back there – was just trying to save you from a terrible night. Those things’ll have you doubled over ‘til sunrise and whichever way you get rid of ‘em, it won’t be pretty.”

Harry followed the thumb Louis has thrown over his shoulder, and saw the pink berries now scattered across the ground.

As the situation stood, Harry could continue his muted disbelief, or he could try to accept the fact that he was now having a conversation with a ghost, and carry on.

“Right… thanks, I guess.”

Louis arched his back, cheeks puffed up above a toothy grin, and he ran one hand roughly through his fringe. Harry noticed the way his hair sat soft and a little wind-ruffled atop his head, and then wondered if it was possible for a ghost to be wind-ruffled.

He straightened his posture against the wall, unsure of whether or not he should find the way Louis never broke eye contact unnerving. It was difficult to look away, not only because Harry suspected Louis would disappear if he did, but because he was rather beautiful (an altogether unusual thing for Harry to think of a ghost, and something he didn’t feel like dwelling on right now). Even when he did chance a brief look away, he came right back to see that Louis’ gaze was steady and unchanged. “So if you didn’t want me to eat the berries why didn’t you stop me from picking them?”

“Can’t go out there,” Louis answered, one arm gesticulating generally, and Harry assumed he meant outside the lighthouse. “I’m tied to this place. Saw you picking them though – thought about calling out to you but,” he grinned, “I doubt you would’ve responded very well.”

“I don’t think passing out on the bottom step of a lighthouse is a very good response,” Harry said, giving his head one more good rub as the ache began to dull.

“No, probably not your best moment, although I wouldn’t know. Could in fact be a highlight for you, depending on how pitiful your life story is.” When Harry scowled Louis’ face scrunched up in gratified delight. “But I figured it was probably best if we met face to face, rather than with me hollering from the top of a tower.”

“So you’ve been here this whole time?”

“Have you not been listening, mate? I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

It would’ve almost sounded pitiful, if not for the cheer Louis pumped into every word.

“Why didn’t you talk to me earlier, then? This morning, or last night when I first got here?” Harry’s voice was stronger now, no hint of a tremor. He’d only been talking to Louis for a couple of minutes, and while he’d encountered many odd things on his travels, this was his first brush with anything supernatural. It was all the stranger, then, that Harry felt so comfortable around Louis already.

Louis didn’t respond right away, and there was an instant when his features looked like they were about to fall, but Louis caught himself quickly, lips quirking up in a smirk. “Thought you needed your rest, having just crash landed and all. Rough night for you.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled, stretching out his legs to the side, away from where Louis was hovering just in front of him. He ran a hand down his face. “Bloody hell, how am I gonna get out of here.”

Even with his eyes partially concealed Harry clearly saw the way Louis’ face loosened, all sense of complacency lost while he thought Harry’s vision was obscured. For a moment Harry thought that he looked… sad. But the second his hand fell away Louis was smiling as if he always had been.

A few seconds of silence passed, Harry wondering what to do about his fate, and Louis just watching him, before he seemed to brighten with an idea.

“So! Shall I give you the official tour then? Show you around my humble abode.”

Louis rose quickly to his feet, bobbing in place with his hands clasped in front of him. He had a glow to him, more silver than grey, and Harry just stared, feeling more than a little overwhelmed with this strangely perky spectre. 

“I mean, I know you’ve already seen it all but not with my flair, yeah?”

Louis led him around the cabin, guiding him through the living area he’d slept in last night, informing him that he should restuff the mattress so he’d be more comfortable next time. “Mind you I think all the hay’s turned to dust by now. Maybe we can make some more?” He led Harry through the kitchen and the storage room full of oil drums, arms sweeping and voice highly theatrical, and it was every inch the dingy space he’d walked through that morning, but it did seem to have more life with Louis’ walking through it – which was ironic, to say the least.

Eventually Harry was led up the spiral stairs and back onto the platform overlooking the sea, black under the darkened sky. Harry set the oil lamp on the ground so the wind wouldn’t blow it out, and did up a few more buttons on his shirt. He was just wishing he’d grabbed his coat before following Louis up the tower.

“She was a beauty back in the day,” Louis said, and there was a soft look in his eye, almost loving, as he ghosted a few fingers around the edge of the lantern, casting no reflection on the glass. “Saved a lot of ships, and even more lives.”

Harry noticed the way he spoke as if the lantern hadn’t been lit in years – as if it hadn’t been on just twenty four hours ago.

“But it does still work…” he began, and Louis stiffened a little before dropping his hand. He didn’t meet Harry’s eyes as he continued. “Sometimes, it still turns on?”

A pause, before Louis nodded, twirling around a few inches from the ground. “Every now and then, she squeezes out a little more life.”

“But how? The generator’s completely rusted, the gears are locked in place. There isn’t even any oil being fed into the lantern—”

“She’s a miracle worker,” Louis cut in, his tone reverent but final. Harry’s mouth fell shut on a half-formed question and he decided not to press him any further. As harmless as he seemed and lovely as he looked, Louis was a supernatural being, and Harry reminded himself it was best not to provoke him in case there was a side of Louis he’d rather not see.

They stayed up in the tower, watching the last traces of blue leave the sky and the first stars prick the black sheet above. Harry was vaguely aware that Louis was still talking and with a jolt realised that he hadn’t been listening. It was amazing how quickly he’d become jaded to the fact that he was standing beside a ghost, to the point where he was suddenly aware of his dry throat and rumbling stomach.

Louis seemed to hear it too, pausing his story to quirk his mouth.

“Come on, I’ll show you which berries are safe.”

Halfway down the stairs Harry thought to ask, “How do _you_ know which berries are safe?” but Louis just laughed.

***

After being instructed that blue and purple berries would not cause any digestive disasters, but pink and red should be avoided at all costs, Harry was reclined on the lumpy bed, filling his stomach. Louis hovered just above the table, legs swinging underneath him as if he were really sitting down. He was just as ghostly grey as before, even with the warm light of the oil lamp washing over the room.

“So where were you heading?” he asked.

Harry lifted one shoulder as he swallowed a mouthful of blue berries. “Nowhere in particular. Just the nearest port.”

“Ah, an adventurer. Should’ve pinned you for a free spirit with those locks.” Louis tugged on his own fringe, nodding towards Harry, who tucked a few errant strands of hair behind his pinking ears.

“A side effect of being out at sea for long stretches,” he shrugged, bashful.

“You out there a lot?”

“I’ll hit land every few days, sometimes every few weeks if I move away from the coastlines. ‘S just how I like it mostly – like the feeling of water on every side.”

“Well you’re gonna love it here,” Louis’s mouth stretched wide.

Harry tried to lift one corner of his lips but it seemed to come out more pained than agreeable, and Louis’ face smoothed out.

“How long have you been sailing?”

“Oh,” Harry began, sitting himself more upright. “Years. As soon as I got my own boat I was off – couldn’t wait. I spent years working at the docks, saving up every penny. Was always a dream of mine as a kid, to just spend my life on the water. My sister used to sneak me onto some of the boats in the harbour when the captains were busy – almost got caught a few times. _Did_ get caught a few times as well,” he chuckled. “Gemma could work them though, never got us more than a slap on the wrist. She was the one that found the boat I ended up buying.”

“So you had a family then,” Louis said, voice soft. “Your sister…?”

Harry nodded, looking at his feet. “Yeah, me, Gemma and mum.”

“Do you miss them?”

Louis’ legs weren’t swinging anymore, just hanging limp below tightly clasped hands, his eyes focused directly on Harry. They were warm and engaging, and every time Harry met them he found he didn’t want to look away.

“It was hard at first, to leave. But... it was what I wanted. ‘S why I got the boat.” Harry popped a few more berries into his mouth, hoping that’d end this particular line of conversation. He didn’t talk about his family much. Tried not to think about them too much either, to avoid the guilt.

Louis’ eyes shifted, staring unfocused across the room before he said, “Did she make it? Your boat?”

Harry heard the tentative step in Louis’ voice, and something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint woven into his tone.

He shook his head, clearing his throat. “She split apart on the rocks. Just driftwood now.”

Whatever it was that lingered just under Louis’ face surfaced briefly before he suppressed it completely, eyes dropping to the floor with a solemn nod.

“Sorry.” His hands fidgeted in his lap. “I know it meant a lot to you.”

Harry’s throat was constricting and, to avoid an embarrassingly croaky response, he finally averted his eyes and set the empty bowl on the floor. Being introduced to not only the existence of ghosts, but a ghost himself, had overshadowed what had been building in Harry’s chest all the while – essentially, a sense of homelessness. He’d lost his home, and his only tangible way off this island, but Harry had never been one to wallow so having something to feel other than the treacherous sinkhole of lost hope swirling under his heart was a welcome gift.

Finding his voice, Harry said, “It’s not ideal, being stranded on an island with nothing but this lighthouse, but I’m pretty sure it saved my life, so…”

Louis’ head snapped up, and he seemed to glow brighter.

“You know,” Harry began, “you’re kind of a walking cliché. Or… floating cliché.”

And he almost laughed because Louis… Louis seemed genuinely offended by that. He hovered a few inches higher off the table, crossing his arms and turning to face him.

“Cliché? And how is that, Mr I-got-shipwrecked-in-the-stormy-seas?”

Harry stifled a giggle, crossing his ankles.

“You know, a ghost haunting a lighthouse. It’s not exactly the last place you’d expect to see a ghost. All the stories out there—”

“There are stories?” All four of Louis’ went limp and he went from mid-air sitting to mid-air standing.

“Well, yeah? There’s loads of legends of ghosts haunting lighthouses; it’s one of the most common stories fishermen tell. I almost feel a little silly I didn’t _expect_ to see a ghost when I ended up here.”

“What kinds of stories though?” Louis floated closer, eyes wide. “Do you think they’re ‘cause of me?”

And Harry proper laughed that time, seeing Louis’ face full of wonder and maybe even a little pride.

“Well, some of them are about women whose husbands died at sea. Dunno if you had a big influence on those particular legends.”

Louis jutted out one foot, arms crossing tighter.

“Don’t be so presumptuous Harold, how do you know I’m not mourning my beloved husband lost at sea?”

There was a glint in his eye and his mouth quirked, and Harry laughed again. It would’ve felt odd to have laughter come so easily in his current situation, were he aware enough to recognise it.

Louis was practically beaming. “There must be other ghosts out there then, in lighthouses all over. Wish I could get out of this place – go meet ‘em.” His words grew steadily sour, and he directed a scowl to the ground. Harry’s mood instantly dropped as well with the reminder that he, too, was quite trapped here.

He then realised he’d been so focused on his own stranded status that he’d not really absorbed the fact that Louis had said multiple times he was trapped here too. It made Harry think about being here alone like he’d been that first night, and what it would’ve felt like if that had been a week, or a month, or longer. He realised he didn’t know how long Louis had been alone.

“What would you do? If you met another ghost, I mean,” Harry prompted.

Louis shrugged, the glint returning to his eyes as he kept his features smooth. “Probably try to spook ‘em.”

“And how would one ghost spook another ghost?”

Harry let his head loll to the side, shooting for unimpressed but falling short and landing on amused. Louis seemed pleased at that, twirling a few times as his fingertips brushed the ceiling.  

“If they’re like me, they wouldn’t be expecting to see another ghost, would they? Could just – jump out in front of ‘em.” Louis raised his arms like he was on the prowl, shoulders hunched.

“And what if you weren’t their first ghost?” Harry grinned.

“I’m sure there’s a way to get under their skin – metaphorically,” Louis winked, dropping his arms. “Everyone’s scared of something. Even if you’re dead.”

Louis was still smiling, but Harry’s amusement slipped away. Questions weighed heavily on his lips; questions he didn’t dare ask. How long have you been here? What have you been doing all this time by yourself?

How did you die?

He’d been quiet for too long and knew that Louis could see the question in his eyes, because he suddenly straightened up, eyes lowered as he said, “Right, well you’re probably exhausted. Big day, meeting a ghost and all. I’ll let you sleep.”

Harry felt guilty but before he had the chance to speak, Louis grew faint and disappeared in front of his eyes.

Fidgeting for a minute or two, wondering idly if Louis would come back, Harry finally got up and cupped his hand over the oil lamp. The flame thinned into smoke, dropping the room into a darkness punctuated by the never-ending winds washing in from the ocean.

He climbed back into bed and turned to the wall, pulling the blanket over his shoulders. Just before he dropped his head to the semi-soft surface he looked back into the empty room and said, “Goodnight.”

As his eyes slipped shut he was sure he heard it echo back.

***

Harry woke to the familiar lap of water and for a moment he was back on his boat, lulled by the morning waves and the smell of saline air against his skin. Only he wasn’t being rocked by a soothing sea, and the air wasn’t streaming into _his_ cabin, but into this cabin, the sun hidden behind wooden windows.

“Morning!”

Harry almost jumped out of his skin, clutching the blanket in terror. Louis’ head was hanging just inches over his, smiling serenely as if he hadn’t just given Harry the scare of his life. He was close enough that, had he been alive, Harry would’ve felt his breathy laugh.

He let out a long sigh, eyes falling closed. “You do like to make an entrance, don’t you?” Despite his best attempts, his voice came out shaky. But then he took in Louis’ crinkled eyes and soft fringe wafting in front of them, and the tension went out of his body. Harry shifted and moved out from under Louis, propping himself up against the wall. Louis was hovering horizontally, his elbows braced on an imaginary surface as he rested his cheeks in his hands. They pushed up under his eyes, stretching his lips to expose pointed teeth.

“Not still frightened of little old ghost me, are you?” He smiled a smile far too devious to give off the innocence he was so clearly going for, and Harry rubbed the sleep out of the corners of his eyes.

“Not used to waking up with company, let alone a disembodied soul. ‘S a little unnerving.”

“Sorry,” Louis offered, still amused if a little genuine. “Guess I come on a little too strong. Not every day I have some company of my own.”

“For me as well,” Harry returned, realising how long it had really been.

“Now don’t try and compete with me, lad, I’m a heavyweight here,” Louis dangled his fingers over Harry’s face, leaving cold impressions across his skin. Harry flinched and Louis laughed, doing a sideways roll in mid-air, and Harry was awake enough to feel a little twinge at how easily Louis skimmed an issue that undoubtedly went deeper.

Harry stood up and cracked his back, the satisfying sound of his joints realigning, and stretched his arms high above his head. He grabbed an orange from his leftover provisions and forced his thumbnail through the thick skin, beginning to peel.

Despite Louis’ attempts to coerce him into finishing his breakfast inside, Harry stepped out into the sun and let it warm his chilly face. He could hear Louis yelling unintelligible efforts to persuade him back, steadily becoming louder and more petulant, and Harry turned around, wiggling his fingers at him. That earned a rather obscene hand gesture that sent Harry off laughing towards the cliff.

The laughter didn’t last long, once Harry was down in the rock pools salvaging all the wreckage of his boat that was still close to shore. Some of it had been washed away, and when he was soaked through and standing back on solid ground with the pieces he’d managed to retrieve, he felt that same sinking feeling he’d had yesterday.

His short-lived hope to reassemble some sort of makeshift vessel out of the wreckage had, he realised, been incredibly naïve. There was nothing he could construct out of these splinters that would carry him off this island. Despite this, he knelt down and shifted the pieces, using a length of rope that had caught on the rocks, and ignored the whispers of higher logic telling him to abandon an obviously hopeless task. Even if he was a waste of time, Harry had all the time in the world to waste.

His every attempt was in vain; the pieces were simply too fragile and disparate, and no amount of rope could bind something that would hold Harry up on the water. Anything that could’ve helped him – the cabin, the sail, the strong wood of the hull – had been torn up and carried out to sea.

A few hours later Harry trudged back into the cabin, dropping backwards onto the bed and throwing an arm over his face.

“So, you gonna sail away anytime soon?” a perky voice said, and Harry huffed into his sleeve. “Reassemble all that driftwood to carry you away like you hoped?”

“No reassembling,” he answered flatly. “No sailing. No anything.”

He heard the stilted sound of an inhale, as if Louis had cut himself off, and then silence. Harry pressed his face deeper into the crook of his elbow and tried not to let hopelessness completely overwhelm him. His fingers twitched nervously, like they were holding back a tremble.

Louis was quiet another moment before lightly touching a finger to the arm shielding his face. It was just a cold spot on his skin. “Told you that you should’ve stayed in,” he said, and it was soft, only a little teasing, but without the lilt of a smile his words usually had.

Harry pulled his arm back to see Louis standing next to him, no floating or hovering, his face smooth and solemn. He didn’t seem sad exactly, just… sorry.

Heaving a sigh, Harry nodded along to Louis’ self-proclaimed wisdom, which earned him half a smile. He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself now that his ambitions had proven so foolish, but eventually Louis persuaded him to join him at the top of the lighthouse. “The fresh air’ll do you good.”

“I just spent all morning in the fresh air, Louis.”

“We’ll be higher up – it’s fresher,” Louis winked. Harry had no way to know whether he was right, but something about Louis made him give up his trust without a fight.

True to Louis’ word, his lungs felt fuller once they were up on the landing. That heavy suffocating sensation clogging his chest started to ease, if only slightly.

Louis was a steady stream of chatter as always, keeping Harry adequately distracted from any grim thoughts and instead focused on idle conversation. It was different seeing Louis under the sun; in the dark he was a source of light, a clear figure cutting the darkness. Out here it was like he caught the sun’s light and reflected it back, just as visible, just as clear and bright compared to his surroundings. His face shone as he spoke and Harry’s eyes traced the line of Louis’ face – his jaw, his cheekbones, the slender slope of his nose and the small sweep of his lower lip. All so strangely distinct despite being intangible.

When Louis paused, Harry realised he’d been caught staring. His cheeks burned as he quickly turned to look out at the ocean, and he heard Louis release an amused puff before carrying on.

Harry couldn’t help but notice the way Louis had so much to say, but never about himself, and while Harry’s curiosity was growing, he didn’t to push for anything Louis wasn’t willing to give.

They stayed at the top of the tower for hours, Harry nibbling at the last of his nut stash as he didn’t have much of an appetite. Louis alternated between questioning Harry on ghost legends he’d heard, and babbling about absolutely nothing. In reality it may well have been something, but Harry was a little preoccupied trying – and failing – not to wallow. Louis eventually seemed to notice that Harry’s attention had been steadily waning, and Harry tried to curb his guilt by leading them into the lantern room.

“Don’t suppose there’s any way to turn her on?” Harry asked, gesturing the lamp in the centre of the room. “I mean it was on the other night, there’s gotta be a way.”

Louis floated a few inches above the ground so his eyes were level with Harry’s, but he just swallowed, shaking his head.

“No can do, ‘m afraid. She shouldn’t be on at all but, got a mind of her own, this one.” Louis made a show of patting the side of the lantern, which pulled a short burst of a laugh from Harry, mainly because he knew that was quite an impossibility, but also a decent mask for his disappointment.

“Is there a way to like, manually light the lantern? Not using the generator, but there’s a load of oil downstairs. Surely there has to be a way to—”

“There’s no way to get into the chamber under the lantern,” Louis interrupted, somewhat harshly, and Harry stalled. His eyes dropped to the waist-high pillar under the oversized lamp, and his hands ran over what had likely once been a latch. It was thick with rust, even the hinges indistinguishable.

Harry chipped at it with his fragile nails, then lifted the crow bar he’d taken to the generator yesterday. He pried and forced and slammed at it, all while Louis offered clipped dissuasions, but still nothing gave. Harry eventually dropped the crowbar, sweat beading on his skin and panting, and Louis stood on the other side of the lantern, bobbing sadly.

Hopelessness never seemed to be too far, lurking around the corner of every attempt Harry made at escape, and his chest began to deflate with the false drive he’d clung to all day. With a huff he kicked the crowbar and followed Louis, who had just backed himself through the glass and out onto the balcony.

He couldn’t hear the water from up here and it felt like being in a bubble – a wind tunnel with just him and the air and no water below at all. Just a moving picture he’d already seen.

That night Harry fell asleep without the motivational spark he’d woken up with, and while he’d spent all day seeing Louis as charming but disruptive, when he woke up the next morning he welcomed the distraction.

***

Harry looked down at the sorry collection of rations he had left – two apples, an empty canteen and one bowl of edible berries from the previous day’s pickings. He was working at an apple core when Louis hovered into his peripheral, head tipped to the side.

“You know, ocean’s full of fish?” he supplied, less than helpful. Harry turned to say so when Louis went on, “I could teach you how to make a rod. Teach a man to fish!”

“I know how to fish, Louis, I lived on a boat.”

“But have you ever had to make your own rod?” Louis probed, folding his arms against Harry’s attitude. Harry twisted his lips – a dead giveaway, apparently – and Louis flashed him a smile, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Sometimes Louis made it very easy to forget Harry was technically stranded on an island alone.

Following his instructions, Harry collected what he could scavenge from the cabin and headed out into the sun. 

Harry was an expert fisherman. Having not only grown up on the docks but also spent the last couple of years at sea, he quite enjoyed catching his own fish – in fact, he wouldn’t even buy prepared fish when on land. It made him feel self-sustaining, and that mattered a great deal to him.

He’d always been like that, really. After he had purchased his own boat, Harry hadn’t liked the feeling of dependency; he’d liked knowing he could rely on himself, even when given the option to hand off responsibility to another.

It was that determination that allowed Harry to catch half a dozen fish while perched on the shallow rock pools, even with a makeshift rod such as this.

Louis cheered from a distance and somersaulted through the air when Harry held up his successes, but for the first time seemed grateful for his boundary inside the lighthouse when he couldn’t follow Harry out to watch him gut and scale the fish.

“My least favourite part of a life at sea,” Louis grimaced once Harry had returned to the cabin with a full bucket. He’d emptied the entrails back into the water out of sight of Louis, who had made exaggerated retching sounds when he’d attempted to bring them inside.

“Didn’t you ever do this yourself?” Harry smiled, a little curious, and grabbed some of the driftwood he’d been using as kindling.

Louis scowled. “Not if I could help it.”

On the cusp of cracking a joke about Louis’ predicament – _good thing ghosts don’t eat_ – Harry felt a stone drop in himself before the words could pass his lips.

It wasn’t necessarily that he thought Louis would be offended by it; Louis had made more jokes about his own spectral status than Harry suspected had ever been made about anything, and Harry had only known him a couple of days. But that was just it – Harry had only known him a couple of days, and he still didn’t know why Louis was a ghost, or for how long, and he wasn’t entirely sure he should be the one bringing it up.

He could tell that Louis had read the sudden change on his face, lips falling open in a half-formed comment. In an attempt to divert, Harry quickly pulled a fish from the bucket and stretched it to open the seam he had cut down its belly. “Hmm, I think I missed some.” Louis let out a strangled groan and took off straight through the wall into the oil room. Harry dropped the fish back into the bucket with a laugh before heading back outside to start a fire.

Louis was edging towards the front door by the time Harry was halfway through cooking his first fish, eyes narrowed to suspicious slits as he scanned the scene for anything he deemed sickening. Harry shook his head fondly when his dinner earned him a satisfied nod and a thumbs-up.

Sitting on the floor of the cabin with his back to the wall hours later, Harry watched rain pour down outside, filling the containers he’d left outside to replenish his supply. The open door let in a cool current of air, and he could still hear the waves under the light rainfall. He liked the way it reminded him of the night he’d sit by the cabin door of his own boat, legs stretched over the modest deck and the moon his compass.

Louis was crouched down beside him, mirroring his position although he wasn’t touching the wall or the floor, and seemed to flutter slowly in place whenever the breeze blew in.

“Do you have any friends?” Louis asked suddenly, voice curious but genuine. Harry tipped his head slightly, slanting a look in Louis’ direction. There was no reflection in his eyes, just the aged pattern of the wall behind him.

“Not really,” Harry murmured, crossing his ankles. Louis did the same. “I mean, I’ve met a lot of people – so many people. S’pose I’ve made lots of acquaintances along the way, people I liked who seemed to like me. But no long standing friends. Never in one place long enough, really.”

Louis nodded, but he didn’t treat Harry’s answer as sad, which was a relief because Harry didn’t think it was either. After watching the rain for another minute, Harry turned back to see Louis was still looking at him.

Louis straightened his gaze instantly, and while Louis had no pigment, Harry could’ve sworn in that moment his cheeks swelled just a shade darker than the rest of him. His face seemed a little less transparent and the wall behind him a little less visible.

Harry wanted to ask why he’d asked, whether Louis had once had friends, whether he wished he had friends now. He wanted to ask so many things, but he didn’t. He just uncrossed his ankles and watched as Louis did the same.

Maybe he was sitting beside his only friend. Maybe Louis was too.

It had been over an hour since the sun had disappeared and the night chill had set in. The wind was gaining power, the floor around the open door flecked with rain. Harry felt like there was too much space between his skin and the fabric of his shirt – too much room for the air to get in. He did up a few more buttons, pulling his knees up and letting his arms loop around them loosely.

Louis didn’t mimic him this time, just looked between him and the open door. Harry linked his hands tighter, not wanting to move or prompt Louis to move either. It was nice, this, small conversation and company enough.

A particularly strong gust sent an involuntary shiver through Harry’s body and he tensed, trying not to give himself away, but small lines built up over the smooth skin of Louis’ face in concern.

“Are you cold?”

“No,” Harry lied with an insistent shake of his head.

Louis narrowed his eyes and hovered closer, holding out his hand and ghosting it along Harry’s arm. It left a trail of goose bumps behind.

“Liar.”

Harry offered a guilty smile but shuffled closer when Louis went to move away.

“I don’t mind though. It’s not terribly warm here anyway, what’s a few more degrees?”

The lines of Louis’ face smoothed out once again and his cheeks took on that same dark tint as his lips curled into a sweet smile. Something warm sparked in Harry’s chest, erasing the chill seeping into his skin; child bit at his shoulder as Louis sat that little bit closer.

And before he knew it, the day had completely passed him by and Harry hadn’t considered a way off the island once.

***

Harry had forgotten what it was like to share time with someone else for so long. He’d always been content on his own, so there’d been little incentive for him to build relationships or hold onto people. They washed in and out of his life like waves, rolling with the current of his impulse to move on – always move on. But here with Louis, Harry had no choice, and found he didn’t mind.

They would talk. Talk and talk and talk more than Harry had talked in years. He told every ghost story he’d ever heard while Louis listened with eager eyes, smile growing ever so much brighter. He complained about his dismal bedding and stuffed his mattress with grass, plumping it up and sleeping better for it. He caught five different kinds of fish, and even tried an eel (he’d done it mostly to disgust Louis, but ended up retching for ten straight minutes after the first bite). He woke up each morning to Louis’ icy fingertips running cheekily down his spine, and he forgot he wanted them to stop.

Each day they found themselves at the top of the lighthouse while the sky turned orange and the sea reflected it back. Louis still had so much to say, and it made Harry wonder how long Louis had been alone without someone to talk to.

He watched Louis flutter about as his mouth danced around stories, and Harry wondered then what Louis would’ve been like when he was alive. He imagined Louis with colour in his cheeks, with his hair able to be whipped about by the wind. He thought about how his footsteps would sound as he scurried around creating mischief, or even what his touch would be like if it were more than frost. He couldn’t help dropping Louis into his memories – playing at the docks as a boy, smelling fruits at the market and thieving loose apples, out on the water on a calm summer’s day. The one thing he didn’t have to wonder is whether Louis would’ve fit seamlessly into his life, had they met as two living, breathing boys. His heart warmed at the idea that he could’ve had Louis in his life longer than this.

The real mystery was how Louis managed to be more alive than anyone Harry had ever met. He was bright and funny and filled this island so Harry forgot he was alone; Louis was worth a hundred other people. He was beautiful as a ghost; he would’ve been breathtaking as a human.

That night the rain returned and Harry huddled under the blanket to protect himself from the wind. Louis was just beginning to flicker out of sight when Harry spoke.

“Wait. Will you… stay? Stay here with me?”

Louis was solid once again, eyes wide, and gave pause before nodding. He floated over and Harry shuffled until his back was flush against the wall. Louis seemed to understand, stopping again.

“But, you’ll be cold?”

“I don’t mind.”

After a moment he drifted down until he was parallel to Harry, hovering just an inch above the bedding. His knees brushed Harry’s with a chill.

Harry shivered and Louis pulled his legs back, tucking his arms right up against his chest. “Sorry,” he grimaced.

Harry shook his head and reached out with one hand, letting his finger trace Louis’ arm. It felt like dipping his fingertip in iced water, and Louis just watched, his chest expanding slightly.

When he woke he found himself facing the wall. There was a chill running along his back, but he drew comfort from it like he’d once done with warmth, because he knew Louis was there.

***

Harry had been on the island a week before escape crossed his mind again.

His stomach groaned as soft aromatic smoke rose from the fish he had suspended over a modest fire just outside the cabin. The wind was strong and he tried to block the flames, to keep them alive long enough to cook his dinner. Louis was hovering just inside the doorway, doing flips and twirls and entertaining himself quite successfully while Harry offered (not-so-sarcastic) applause in response.

“Admit it,” Louis preened. “You’re impressed.”

“Of your natural ability to defy gravity in multiple positions? Oh yes, very impressed.”

Louis seemed quite content to ignore the underlying mockery and focus on the complimentary nature of his words. A few days ago Harry would’ve rolled his eyes, even if only for show, at Louis’ determination to avoid humility at all costs. Now, however, it just made him feel warm inside, like Louis deserved to think the world of himself, the way he seemed to. He looked at Louis, who smiled with his chin held high, and couldn’t stop a soft laugh from escaping his lips.

It was strange, the way Louis was transparent and not at the same time. Harry could see everything behind him as if it were covered by a mere veil, and yet Louis was undeniably present, and only growing more so. He remembered the first night he’d seen Louis: a soft silver boy-shaped wisp, so clearly unreal in this real world. In the last few days he’d almost grown more solid – still as translucent as ever, but sharper, constantly in focus, and brighter. More real.

When Louis noticed that Harry appeared more or less endeared by his antics, he rocked his arms as if winding himself up and then did a triple forward roll before ‘landing’ two feet in the air and throwing his arms high in success. Harry clapped his free hand against his other wrist in wonder and Louis bowed low with a flourish of his hand.

Harry turned away to laugh and his eyes skimmed the horizon, sunlight haloed across the entire stretch as the sun began to sink. It was smooth and still and undisturbed, except for one strange spot a little off to the left. It was merely a bump in the line between sea and sky but Harry’s laughter petered out, brow dipping as he tried to identify it. A whale perhaps, or a low flying bird.

The bump grew, stretching taller and fanning out below; Harry’s fingers, suddenly numb, lost their grip on the fish, dropping it into the fire.

“I know you like it well-done, Harry, but don’t you think that’s going a bit overboa—”

Harry spun around, heart beating loudly. “Boat!” he cried, running clean through Louis and into the cabin. His whole body was trembling, the rhythm of his steps ruined as his legs shook dangerously, barely able to carry him to the oil room. He grabbed one of the drums, now lighter since Harry had started using the reserves, and hauled it back into the main room.

Louis hadn’t moved out of the doorway and looked utterly bewildered as he watched Harry heave the oil drum out.

“What are you doing? Harry?”

“Boat!” Harry wheezed a second time, dropping the drum a few feet from the door and sprinting back outside. “A boat! There, on the horizon. It’s—I have to—they could save me!”

Louis didn’t reply, or perhaps Harry was just too focused to hear, grabbing fistfuls of dried grass and twigs. Kicking the drum lid off with one foot, he dunked both arms into the oil, soaked the tinder and hurried back out before throwing it into the fire. The flames flared momentarily, consuming the new fuel.

Louis cried out. “Harry your hands! Be careful!”

Harry pulled his arms back before the fire licked up the oil dripping from his fingers, watching the twigs burn and smoke before looking back at the boat out on the horizon. He could only see half a sail, and it seemed to be sailing directly across the skyline, and he knew he needed more.

Over and over, he grabbed more fuel, soaked it in oil and threw it onto the fire. Soon it had spread beyond the rim of stones he’d laid to contain it earlier, but Harry didn’t care how big it grew – just hoped it grew big enough. The winds were strong, dispelling the smoke, and the boat was moving fast, already halfway across the horizon.

He wiped oily palms against his trousers, the rest of his skin moist with sweat.

“No,” he groaned, running back inside. He made for the tower, taking the stairs two at a time, and halfway up Louis was by his side, features alarmed as he kept pace.

“What are you doing?” he half shouted. Harry was breathing harder as the blood pumping in his ears blocked out all sound, and Louis felt as far away as that ship. Or as close.

He reached the platform with burning lungs and rushed into the lantern room, coming to an instant stop. He could still see the boat, a little clearer now that he was nearer to the clouds. It had moved so far.

Louis put himself between Harry and the boat, tense and clearly agitated.

“ _Harry_. What are you doing?”

The boat was moving just behind Louis’ eyes, clouded in silver but so very real. Harry shifted his focus, the boat blurring to bring Louis’ face into clarity.

“We’ve got to turn it on,” he breathed, moving past Louis and placing frantic hands on the lantern. “We’ve got to turn it on – they’ll see it if we turn it on. How do we turn it on, Louis?”

“I—” Louis’ hands were open, helpless. “We can’t, Harry. It doesn’t—”

Harry rounded on him with a height he’d never realised he had over Louis, what with his always being three feet in the air. His voice was forceful, desperate. “It does work— don’t tell me it doesn’t – _it does work_. It brought me here! It brought me here just days ago – it’s not broken. It works!”

He looked past Louis, saw that the boat’s sail was shrinking, shorter than it was moments ago.

He groaned, bounding to the generator, running his hands over every surface, every gear, every conduit, rust scraping across his healing palms. He turned to Louis desperately, mouth open in a silent plea: _help me_.

But Louis just stood with his hands out, lips apart, clearly distraught but making no move to assist, and Harry cried out in frustration and turned back to the generator, taking the lever in both hands and bearing down with every ounce of strength in his body. He pulled until his palms burned, until his heels scraped against the floor, until skin was broken and his voice was tearing through the air. He pulled like his life depended on it, because it did.

He could vaguely hear Louis’ voice, growing less vague and more insistent the harder he pulled. He squeezed his eyes shut, the muscles in his arms starting to burn and breath coming faster with his pounding heart.

“Harry. Harry… _Harry_!”

Just as Louis shouted his name a third time his hands slipped from the lever and he fell back with a thud, knocking the breath out of him. He scrambled to his feet, sparing no glance for Louis as he latched back on, eyes scanning the horizon to see how much time he had left. Panic swelled as his eyes moved across the water, and his stomach gave a sickening drop when he saw that only the very tip of the sail was still visible above the water. The boat had already passed. It was too late.

His fingers slipped from the lever, legs crumpling under him as he sagged back onto the floor. His chest was heaving, felt like a shell – if someone pressed their ear to it, it would sound like the sea. His hands shook from their iron grip on the lever, or at least that’s what he told himself.

The sun had sunk by now, the sky losing the last of its hopeful glow and washing Harry’s world into grey. There was only one glow left, and it came from Louis crouching by his side, face visible and silver despite the spilled ink of night steadily soaking up the sky. He worried at his lip, cheeks bunched tight like he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Harry…” he started, but nothing followed, just his eyes flitting over Harry’s face.

That was the first boat Harry had seen since crashing on this island. It had already been a week, and Louis had said he didn’t see many ships. What if this had been his only chance? What if Harry’d missed the only opportunity he’d ever get to be rescued by a passing ship? Even if another one did pass by, how would he get its attention? Could he ever burn enough? Would it even matter?

A thought, so far repressed for the sake of Harry’s own sanity, began to nudge forward, looping closer and closer to the front of his mind until it was all he saw.

Harry was never getting off this place.

Something swelled slow and heavy in is stomach. Fearful and frantic, it filled his chest and rushed up his throat and Harry suddenly let out a choked sob, one hand lifting to his mouth while pushing himself off the ground with the other. Louis followed, rising so he remained at eye level; he looked like he was vibrating, his edges blurry with the most indiscernible motion, eyes wide and anxious. Harry couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t stay here, couldn’t.

He descended the stairs with quick shaky steps, so fast he was almost gliding. He landed with a heavy thud at the bottom of the tower, almost falling to his knees.

He slumped face first into the fattened mattress, its lumps muffling every shaky breath. He curled into a miserable ball, trying not to make a sound as the first of his tears spilled over. There was a cavern of absent hope sitting inside him, sucking him in, but he clamped down on it, refusing to let it swallow him and the room around him up. He held it all in, gripping at the blanket so tightly he half expected it to tear.

Harry couldn’t hear Louis moving, but he knew he was there – could feel his presence in the room, almost like a black hole of energy, taking from the space and leaving a vacuum. He didn’t say anything, didn’t approach or try to squeeze into Harry’s limited eye line like he’d done so many times before. He was just there, and then he wasn’t, and Harry didn’t need to lift his head to know.

***

When Harry woke, his was face was stiff from dried tears and his throat ached from the toll of holding in too much emotion. He felt a moment of peace, when the state of his mind didn’t match the state of his body, before memories of a sail drifted across the horizon of his mind.

The air was always saltier in the morning. He didn’t know why – perhaps because his senses weren’t yet used to it, needed the day to adapt all over again. After waking up on the waves for so many years, it was surprising his body still needed that.

Harry’s limbs were weary with memory and he rolled onto his front, burying his face into musty blankets and letting the heaviness over his heart push him back into sleep.

It went on like that for the rest of the morning – brief intermissions of consciousness only long enough to remind himself of why he was still here before Harry was able to drop off again. Soon, or what felt like it, the air had lost some of its salt, grown less heavy, and Harry was finding it harder and harder to lull himself back into sleep. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the rough ceiling, fingers twitching lightly from their clutch on the generator the night before.

There was a stirring in his chest that Harry remembered from distant days – harder days, ones that later became turning points for him. It was a determined fire that only ever rose up from desperation. Just like the day he’d left home and the days without food or fuel or warm words, Harry felt the drive that meant _he_ was his only hope, and he wouldn’t let himself down.

The energy thrummed in his bones and forced him to his feet, and he grabbed a bowl of berries before walking outside.

The sun was high, meaning he’d dropped in and out of sleep into the early afternoon. He lifted the compass he’d pulled from his knapsack and held it out to gain his bearings. North was currently behind him, his toes pointed south, but the horizon went on and on in every direction with no discernible difference, no matter where he stood.

He could remember his last bearing before the storm that had brought him to the lighthouse. He’d been steadily creeping west towards a coastline he’d waved goodbye to only a few days earlier. Harry had no way of knowing how close he was to the last bearing; he’d travelled for hours between his last check of the compass and the first roll of thunder.

Turning to face west now, Harry eyed the endless sea, his mind ticking over. He was healthy, strong, young, certainly able-bodied, and capable in the water. He’d never tested himself to this degree, but really, he had no other choice. He didn’t think about how hard it would be or what his chances were. Just like all those times he’d been in a scrape, he shut his emotion out and he let his heart go quiet. He would put his softness away, let himself grow hard for just a while; it was the only way to do what needed to be done.

Harry walked the island for hours. He collected berries, he checked the nets for fish – he wasted a lot of time, really, unsure of what exactly to do with himself. He felt unsettled, ready to move, but he wanted a full day for his journey, so for now he lapped the small piece of land over and over, trying to clear his mind the way it would on days alone out at sea. There had always been a peace inside himself he could tap into, stilling his thoughts while time continued to tick.

Eventually his stomach gave a low growl and Harry retreated inside for some leftover fish. He stood against the wall chewing thoughtfully, mind still clear, when a glimmer caught his eyes and he turned to see Louis hovering in the doorway. His face was a little fuzzy, smooth lines made smoother by the flat line of his mouth, but the instant he noticed Harry was looking back at him his features sharpened.

“Wondered where you’d gone off to. Thought you might’ve disappeared in the night.”

A small smile curled around his words, perhaps tentative at the mention of Harry getting away, but the apprehension sat in his eyes and not his tone as he drifted nearer, one hand resting in the dip of his waist.

“Not yet,” Harry answered after a swallow. It was much less than he usually gave Louis, but he didn’t want to get caught up in their rhythm today – he didn’t want to get distracted.

Louis’ controlled features slipped momentarily and his tone noticeably hardened when he said, “Back at it then?”

Harry just nodded, popping the last bite of fish into his mouth.

It was strange, the way Louis seemed to behave as if the elements affected him. He suddenly grew ruffled, hair unruly like the wind had tossed it about, and even his clothes fluttered slightly as the line of his mouth tightened. He turned to look at the cabin’s open door, nodding stiffly, but didn’t say anything more. Harry might’ve noticed the way he clouded over if he hadn’t been so focused on cataloguing what he’d be able to fit into a knapsack and still stay afloat.

Louis didn’t really hang around after that. He would occasionally flit in and out whenever Harry was in the cabin, but he didn’t speak, and neither did Harry.

But Harry didn’t have time – he had to go over everything he’d need if this was going to work. He was vaguely aware of Louis hovering just outside the room at the base of the tower while he got on with his own preparations, noticed the way he’d flicker forward every now and then like he was about to say something, and Harry would do a double take, but then Louis would just drop back, chewing on his lower lip.

He spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about his clothes. Luckily it had been quite a mild season, which meant the water wouldn’t drop in temperature too much overnight. He wasn’t sure if that would change out in the open ocean, but no amount of clothing would help him keep warm in the water – in fact the more he wore, the more of a nuisance it’d be. A minimal layer, he decided, was best. That way he wouldn’t be weighed down.

He folded his jacket up and removed his socks, placing them on the table. He wouldn’t need those anymore.

He ate fish for dinner while the sun set and packed the rest away into his knapsack. Harry knew anything he took with him would be soaked through, but wet food was better than no food, and he’d need it.

He lit the oil lamp and then stood with his hands on his hips, absently surveying the dim room. There was nothing left to do at this point – just get as much rest as he could and start early. The night seemed darker than usual, and it took Harry a moment to remember that usually the lamp’s light was accompanied by Louis, casting his own soft glow.

As if summoned by the mere memory of himself, Louis popped his head around the corner from the base of the lighthouse where he’d disappeared to earlier. He was frowning, eyes flicking between Harry and his bag.

“See you’re all set then.”

Harry’s fingers twisted around the hem of his shirt. “Wondered if I’d get to say goodbye,” he said, lips pulled up gently to one side. “Haven’t seen you all day. I hoped you’d at least show up in the morning.”

“So what, you’re gonna ride one of those pieces of driftwood out into the sunset?”

Louis had bodily entered the room now, hovering a few inches above the ground with his arms crossed and one leg cocked. He was indistinct around the edges.

Harry chuckled. “No, I’m going to swim.”

Something flickered across Louis’ face, too strong to hide completely, and his face hardened in an effort to veil whatever it was.

“Well, that’s stupid.”

A cold shard hit Harry’s chest and his face fell. “No it isn’t.”

“You’re just going to swim across the ocean?” Louis barked a cold laugh. “Yeah, that’ll do it.” His arms pulled tighter and he was sharper all over, all harsh lines and pulsing light.

Harry felt anger spike suddenly in his stomach. “I’m sorry, do you see any other bright ideas?” A tremor was building in his voice, threatening to push an octave higher. His heart wasn’t keeping quiet now.

“Yeah, how about not swimming yourself to certain death?”

“The only certain death I see is sitting on this stupid island for the rest of my life without at least trying to save myself.”

The harsh lines of Louis’ face dropped and there was that unnamed something flickering across his face again. Harry recognised it this time – pain. It made something else light inside his chest but – he had no time.

“What did you think I was doing all day?” he croaked. “Just packing myself a nice bag of food for a quick wander of the island? It takes twenty minutes to walk this place, I’d hardly need a bag.”

“I thought you were trying to think of something to keep yourself alive, not get yourself killed.”

“You knew there was nothing left of my boat to use. I have to try something else!”

“I didn’t think you’d resort to this!”

Their voices had escalated now as they yelled across the room, the close quarters just fuelling the fire between them.

“I’m just trying to keep myself alive!” Harry took a step forward, and Louis advanced equally.

“No you’re not, you’re just trying to get off this island!”

“It’s the same thing,” Harry shouted, throwing out his arms.

“No it’s not!”

Louis’ voice had gone high and he gesticulated wildly. He was no longer solid around the edges but blurred, almost like he was quivering. For some reason, it just made Harry angrier.

“I have to do this, Louis! I can’t just sit around here stuffing mattresses and getting comfortable. And I don’t care if it’s mad or if I might die! It’s the only way I might live.”

He turned away, yanking his knapsack open as if he were about to go through it all a sixth time.  

“No!”

Harry felt an icy spike through his arm and turned to see Louis with his hand outstretched, face open in fear and his arm slowly sinking back to his side. His eyes were wide with disappointment; it looked like he’d momentarily forgotten he was a ghost.

“You can’t, Harry.”

Harry’s fire, momentarily undercut at the sight of Louis’ face, flared back up, filling his chest and rushing out through his veins.

“I can’t stay here, Louis!”

“You’ll never make it past the reef. You’ll drown just like all the others!”

Harry stopped. “Others?”

Louis squirmed a little, eyes flicking down for a second as he ruffled his fringe in frustration. His voice dropped all its power and for the second time since they’d met, Harry was aware of how much smaller Louis was compared to him.

“Do you really think you’re the first person to wash up on this rock?” Louis asked, and his voice was low now, weighed down with a sadness Harry’d not heard before. “There have been others, Harry, a lot of them. And they all tried to swim off this place. They all…”

Louis’ voice petered out and Harry suddenly remembered the splinters of wood that didn’t match his boat littering the rock pools. Older, mossy pieces, discoloured and smooth like they’d lapped in the waves for years.

He wanted to ask what had happened to them, the people who’d washed up in those boats, but he was pretty sure he already knew the answer. A different question left his lips.

“Did you talk to them, too?”

Louis’ eyes popped in surprise and he combed his fringe again. He didn’t answer right away, but when he did his words were soft, spoken from years away.

“Some of them. After a while… I tried to stop them. I’m sure you can imagine how seeing a ghost really encouraged them to stay.”

Their voices had evened out, the rush in Harry’s veins dissipating. Louis was closer now, eyes still low, and Harry recognised a look he’d worn before. Louis’s words were so quiet Harry only heard them because the sea was unusually calm outside.

“It’s not the same thing,” he repeated. “Keeping yourself alive… that’s staying here.”

He flickered right in front of Harry’s eyes, almost as if he didn’t want to be seen, hands wringing tight against his navel and hair shielding his eyes from view.

“What difference does it make if you’re out there or if you’re… here?” he went on, slow and soft, _trying_. “At least if you’re here you’re not alone.”

“And neither are you,” Harry muttered back.

Louis’ feet were almost touching the ground, and he seemed impossibly small and unreal in that moment. Harry had always been amazed by how real Louis seemed, despite being the only thing in the world he couldn’t physically touch. This was the first time he’d actually seemed like a ghost in the world.

“Did you want the others to stay so they wouldn’t drown, or so that you wouldn’t be lonely?”

He wasn’t sure why he said it, but he had a reel of memories from the past week, and replaying them all now he realised that Louis had almost always been the brightest ball of energy this side of the sun – except when Harry had tried to escape.

Louis’ face ran through a rapid succession of emotions in the space of a few seconds. His mouth went slack, hanging open in surprise before his eyebrows tipped up in hurt. Then his features evened out. His jaw hardened, and his entire being became so focused everything else in the cabin seemed to grow hazy in comparison.

“I didn’t want them to die,” he spat. His sharp edges blurred and before Harry could get in another word he disappeared right in front of his eyes.

***

Harry’s plans to get a good night’s rest disappeared with Louis, and instead Harry spent the night in and out of sleep, huffing and shifting, and more upset than he wanted to admit.

When the sun eventually rose his limbs were heavy with fatigue, but Harry pulled himself to his feet regardless, trying to breathe in the motivation he needed for the day ahead. He sat and ate a good serving of berries and half a fish, and then went through his knapsack once more to make sure he was set – all the while, trying and failing to ignore the fact that he’d woken up alone for the first time in a week.

It was unfamiliar, the feeling that someone was missing – it’d been so long since he’d felt it, and he remembered when only a week ago he’d found unfamiliarity in the exact opposite. But Louis had become a strangely solid fixture despite the fact that he was barely solid at all, and Harry hadn’t felt the pull of someone since he’d left home, left his family. He’d forgotten what it was like to want someone by his side, and to miss them when they weren’t.

Standing at the open door, he looked back at the cabin one last time – at the bed he’d made his own, the sparse furniture and few belongings he was leaving behind. It felt emptier than it had since his first night, and Harry glanced at the door leading to the lighthouse, hopeful, but it was bare save for a few errant sunbeams reaching through the cracks in the windows. He shuffled back a step, wondering if he’d have to wait until the last second for Louis to appear, testing his stubbornness. But dust particles floated through the air, uninterrupted

Harry opened his mouth, Louis’ name heavy on his tongue, but snapped it shut again. If Louis wanted to see him before he left he’d have appeared already. Harry had hurt him last night, he knew; it didn’t feel right to call out for him now.

Heart pounding, Harry swallowed the words in his throat and pulled the door closed after himself. He made his way down to the shore, finding the lowest point where the sea met the rocks. At low tide the rock pools stretched out much farther, so Harry was able to skip quite far out until water lapped at his ankles. He left his shoes on the grass as they’d only make things harder and he stood at the edge of the rocks, feeling the wind rush through his loose shirt and light trousers – the minimum he could spare. His knapsack wasn’t terribly heavy against his back, but any weight would disappear in the water. He pulled his hair back into a bun and cracked his fingers.  He submerged his feet, then his legs, and there was a weight in his chest he hoped wouldn’t cause him to sink.

He tried to keep his breathing even as the water climbed slowly up his body; one hand still held a firm grip on the rocks. The water seemed calm, mostly even on the surface, and the sun was beginning to warm the day.

Harry felt a well-known weightlessness wash over him, and he realised he hadn’t been in the water since the night he’d crashed here. Growing up by a port, Harry had spent half his life in the water, and even now there was a strange solace to be found bobbing in the waves. It was a relieving familiarity, and Harry’s heart rate started to ease, finding comfort in such recognised territory.

Harry released the rocks and sank down to his chin, gently kicking his legs and wading with his arms to keep afloat, and with one deep breath he pushed off.

He moved with smooth, powerful strokes he’d perfected as a child, swimming further and further out to sea, and he gave his compass a quick check, letting it drift around his neck to keep him on course.

He swam out for a few minutes, focused on keeping his heading and not exerting himself too early. It wasn’t until he started to feel the rhythm of an undercurrent against his legs that he looked back and realised he was already quite far out. The tranquil surface of the ocean was deceptive, and Harry could feel the waters underneath starting to stir, getting rougher, creating little ripples barely detectable at eye level. He kicked harder, remembering the reef Louis had mentioned, and wanted to get past any rough patches quickly before they stirred up too much.

It was already too late by the time Harry checked his compass a second time and saw he was drifting too far north of his intended heading. The undercurrent pulled as he tried to correct himself, making it difficult for Harry to remain afloat. He stopped swimming then, focused instead on kicking in place, pushing against the water’s pull at his feet. His head bobbed on the surface and he turned round, trying to find where the rip ended, but the surface was smooth with barely a suggestion of the disturbance below.

Harry didn’t know which way to swim.

He had been caught in a few rips in his life. Having been raised on the water, he’d seen his fair share of life-or-death experiences, and knew how a rip behaved. The water on the surface had started to break, getting swallowed up underneath and almost taking him with it. He floundered, looking directly up at the sky to keep his mouth clear. He willed himself to relax, trying not to fight too hard and let the water carry him out of the break. Soon he’d be clear and able to carry on. He felt himself drifting further and further south, watching as the island lingered behind him, the lighthouse so small from out here, but after a few minutes realised the waters were not calming down like they should.

He tried to kick down against the current and shift his trajectory, move quicker with the stream and then away from it, but nothing seemed to work. The waters were getting rougher and Harry had moved around the island now; the rocks he’d walked down were no longer in sight, and he hadn’t scouted these waters – didn’t know what to expect.

The most important lesson Harry had learned around water was to stay calm, but time was passing and it was getting more difficult to stay afloat. The currents were changing so quickly he couldn’t work with them, and he could feel himself getting tugged down.

He was definitely starting to panic.

He could feel the pull on the leg of his trousers and on the loose flaps of his shirt, and his knapsack was starting to regain some of its weight. Harry let the straps fall from his arms and the knapsack was ripped from his back, instantly tumbling out of sight in the current, leaving Harry to try and balance himself. He was dunked a few times, spluttering back to the surface and tasting salt hot in his throat. His eyes blurred, everything a haze of blue and white and Harry knew he was still moving but he didn’t know where. He couldn’t measure how much time had passed before he had a clear view of the sky again.

It was then, with the water over his head and trickling into his lungs, that the thought filled his head. He was about to die.

Harry’s lungs burned with the combination of salt water and adrenaline – he didn’t want to die here. He didn’t want to be the latest in a long line of people who had failed to escape this island and rested at the bottom of the sea with their pride.

Harry was a strong swimmer and that virtue alone allowed him to keep touching the surface, sucking in quick bursts of air before he was pulled under again. It was just enough to last him until his floundering arm scraped across something jagged, and his fingers grasped for it.

The current had pulled him close enough to the scattered pieces of rock spread out around the rock pools of the island, and Harry reached back, wrapping his free hand around it and holding on tight. The water still rushed around his body with unimaginable force, and Harry tipped his head up to gasp for any break of air he could get.

It was minutes before he felt a slight shift in the current, and the change left a brief window where Harry was able to pull himself closer to the rock, maintain his hold with one hand and reach across until he found another. He waded across pieces of the reef, feeling the waters rise in strength again, and he could see the edge of the rock pools just ahead, close enough that if he moved fast, he could make it.

His limbs were slow and useless under the water, and Harry garbled with frustration, air bubbling from his lips as he kicked across with hands stretched towards the rocky ledge. The current felt like fingers pulling him back, keeping their grip as he kicked violently against them.

He felt the current begin to change and freed himself from its watery grip just long enough to propel himself against the rocks, hands sliding against the edges as his fingers strained to find purchase before the waves built up again.

He pulled himself up enough to lift his head above water, spluttering and choking on the water still halfway to his lungs, and hugged himself close to the rock. His breath was ragged and deep and he laid his head against the wet stone, so thankful for solid land.

Harry’s limbs were drained of energy, and it took everything he had to haul himself up onto the rocks properly, lying in a particularly shallow pool with his legs hanging over as he let his head rest back. He swallowed lungful after lungful of air, his throat stripped and aching. He wasn’t sure how much time passed before he found the strength to stagger his way back up onto the grass and towards the lighthouse.

His weary hand fell to the door handle and he turned it, ready to fall face first before he even reached the bed, but the second the door pulled back he was face to face with a bright, quivering Louis, eyes wide and edges hazy.

Harry wasn’t sure, couldn’t see through the glow, but Louis’ eyes seemed glassy, reflective as if, had he been alive, they’d be wet.

“I…” Harry started, voice little more than a rasp. A puddle was forming at his feet, his clothes soaked and clinging to his skin.

Louis’ chest shuddered in a way that suggested breath, which Harry didn’t understand.

“You’re bleeding.”

Louis’ eyes dropped and Harry’s followed, looking down to see red smeared across his hands and feet, noticing for the first time how scraped up they were from the rocks. He hadn’t felt anything at the time with panic-fuelled adrenaline flooding his veins, but seeing it now, he began to feel a distant throb building.

“Yeah,” he breathed, looking back up at Louis who was staring at him.

“I saw you go.”

His face was open, so much playing there that Harry had only ever seen in absent flashes quickly buried beneath something louder. He was so bright, silver and somehow more solid, the room behind him not as clear through his glow.

“I wanted to tell you not to.” His hands balled into fists, loosening again instantly. “Thought we’d fight again.”

“That might’ve been better,” Harry offered with a weak chuckle, but Louis didn’t smile. Harry put one foot forward and he quickly hovered back to let Harry in.

Harry went straight for the coat he’d left neatly folded on the table, wrapping it around his own shoulders and dropping to the foot of the bed, trying not to soak it through but desperate to be off his feet. He was still a little out of breath, and looked around for his canteen, realising it had disappeared into the waves along with his knapsack.

He ran a finger over his lips, felt salt granules along the stiff surface, and swallowed dryly.

“Do you need a drink?” Louis asked, still but full of energy, like he was buzzing. “Where’s your—”

“Lost it,” Harry said, “Couldn’t—the water was too—”

He stopped to cough.

Louis twirled in place, eyes locking on the kitchen door. “The rain the other night– the container that you used to catch it, there’s some left.”

Harry remembered setting dishes outside to catch the frequent rainfall and nodded, taking a moment before he heaved himself to his feet. Louis was flitting about like he wasn’t sure what to do while Harry ambled into the kitchen and found the tin. He gulped it down desperately and it ran down the corners of his mouth but he didn’t care. He brought it back out into the main room and dropped back onto the bed. Louis was still wringing his hands with his lips pressed in a thin line, and Harry was so tired he couldn’t think of a single thing to say before he slumped onto his side and passed out.

***

When Harry opened his eyes he had to blink a few times just to make sure. It was dark in the cabin, no light breaking in around the edges of the door and windows. The oil lamp was out, and there was a soft breeze wafting in from the night outside.

Harry had slept right through the day.

His throat was still dry, and Harry reached for the container of water he’d left on the floor, tipping it to his lips to gulp urgently. He gasped in relief when it was empty, letting it drop back to the ground as he shifted around onto his back. He could feel the soggy clothes against his skin, and now-soggy bedding beneath him, but there was nothing to do about it now.

His stomach gave a deep gurgle and he looked around for his food before remembering it had all washed away.

“You’ll have to start from scratch now.”

Harry’s head snapped up and his eyes fell on Louis, sitting with his back against the wall at the foot of his bed, only his head and elbows resting against his knees visible. His hands were clasped together, fingers twisting around each other, and there was no humour in his eyes like there usually was when he greeted Harry with a quip. He just seemed worried.

Harry scrubbed at his eyes, sitting up and trying to ignore the unfortunate squelch of the soaked mattress.

“You been here all day?”

Louis’ jaw tightened, ready to put on his defence, but it fell away like he knew it was useless and he gave a reluctant nod.

“Feeling better?”

Harry swiped down his face, feeling weight settle into his bones as he lifted himself up and walked to the end of the bed. Louis made to shuffle over when he dropped down beside him, sighing heavily.

“Not really,” he admitted, running his hands through his tangled hair. It was crusty and knotted with salt, and he pulled until it started to pinch, giving up. Louis straightened out his legs so they mirrored Harry’s, dropping his hands into his lap. His thumbs rubbed incessantly along his own knuckles, shoulders shifting constantly. Harry wanted to reach out and still him.

“Louis?”

“I’m sorry you’re here,” he blurted out all, almost wincing at his own words. “I’m sorry you hate it so much, that you almost died trying to get away. I’m sorry—I—”

“I don’t,” Harry interrupted, quieting Louis. He paused, sadness pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t hate being here. I mean, obviously I’d rather… it’s not that I hate it.” Louis looked up at him slowly, hesitant. He seemed dulled, the spots of mould behind him clearer. Harry shook his head, shaking up the words trying to come out. “You shouldn’t be sorry.”

Louis’ eyes widened, which wasn’t what Harry had been going for. When he detected Harry’s confusion he looked away. Harry still didn’t know if Louis needed to breath, but there was a definite flutter to his chest.

“Louis?” he prodded.

The ghost flickered and Harry feared he was about to disappear again when he said, “I’m so sorry.”

And Harry was horrified to hear the tightness in his voice, the tenuous string between his words, ready to shatter were he not holding on so tight.

“Louis, what’s wrong?”

He held his hands out in some sort of pantomime of help but Louis drew his legs back up to his chest, abandoning their mirrored positions. Harry could half hear the muttered apologies Louis was still burying into his knees.

“Stop, please. Why are you sorry? What is i—”

“It was me.”

Harry frowned. “What was you? I don’t understand.”

“The lighthouse.” Louis’ arms wrapped around his legs and his voice shook. “I’m the one who turned it on. I’m the reason you’re here.”

Harry watched Louis float in place and smoothed a hand down his own thigh. He didn’t understand.

“But you said it didn’t turn on? That it was a fluke, that we couldn’t control—”

“ _You_ can’t turn it on, but… I can. It’s because of me.”

Harry’s heartbeat was picking up, his fingers itching against his knee. He tried to keep his voice even as he spoke, tried not to let the emotion through, tried not to make Louis fade completely.

“If you’ve had control of the lighthouse this whole time… all those times I asked you to turn it on?”

“It’s not—it isn’t like that, Harry.” Louis’ looked at him, wide and desperate. “Whenever I get really upset, whenever I’m… lonely—” his eyes dropped back to the floor, “it just turns on. I can’t control it. It just happens, every time. And every time, someone new shows up. I try to stop it, to not feel so… so lonely. I just can’t.”

He stuttered through his words and Harry’s heart was pounding a beat to match. Louis had pulled himself in so tight he was little more than a ball of slowly fading light.

“I’m so sorry, Harry.” Louis’ voice cracked on his name. “I’m the reason you’re here. I’m the reason so many of them died, why you almost died…”

A tear slid down the slope of Harry’s nose but he hastily brushed it away before Louis could see. Prior conversations up in the watch room flashed through his mind – Louis’ determination to avoid certain questions, certain trains of thought – and the way he seemed so uncomfortable whenever Harry tried to ask how the lantern had turned on the night he’d washed up.

He thought about that night, about the moment he’d been rocking on the waves, hoping for something – anything – that could save him from what seemed like a sure death. He’d been so frightened, so certain that on his own there had been no hope for him. He thought about Louis, in that very moment, curled up somewhere in this lighthouse alone and wishing for someone too.

“You’re not the reason I almost died, Louis,” Harry said. He was relieved to hear the even tenor of his own voice. “You’re the reason I’m still alive.”

Louis rested the side of his head against his knees, looking at Harry like he didn’t understand what he was saying at all.

“I was going to die that night, out on the waves,” Harry explained, and his voice wobbled just a little. “The sea was so rough… the wind— I lost my bearing and I didn’t know where I was, or how I’d ever be able to reach land. I felt so alone and—and so scared.”

Louis’ head was upright now, so much playing across his face but Harry couldn’t focus on that and get the words out at the same time.

“When I saw the lighthouse it was… I knew if I could just get here I’d—it was my only chance. Finding this lighthouse is the only reason I didn’t drown that night.”

Louis’ chest was trembling again, and Harry’s finger twitched with the desire to press against it gently and calm him. His eyes had that strange sheen to them, the ghost of tears Harry couldn’t brush away. He settled instead for shuffling a little closer, feeling goose bumps run up his arm as it brushed against Louis.

“You…” Louis started, and it took a minute for him to go on. “You weren’t saved that night. You’re just going to die in here instead of out there.”

Harry knew he was crying then – felt wet lines reach his chin – because Louis was right.

He was going to die here.

“But at least I met you.”

Louis’ head whipped around to look at him, and Harry’s trembling lips tipped up just a bit, just enough for Louis to smile back, sadly.

The cabin was a little brighter as Louis shone a little stronger, and Harry released a low, shuttered breath as he took in the greystone walls. Swimming off this place was his last leap; there were no others ways off. These walls were all he would know from now on.

He felt icy drops down his hand and looked to see Louis tapping his fingers along the warm skin, his head once again resting against his knees and one corner of his mouth lifted hopefully. Harry felt his chest ease a little as his breath evened out into soft puffs. He smiled again, and when Louis touched a long stripe along his arm he let out a gasp, causing Louis to giggle.

“So you don’t hate me?” he asked after a minute. “For condemning you to a life in this God forsaken lighthouse?”

Harry shook his head softly, his lips stretching the fading tear tracks on his cheeks. “Being here with you doesn’t feel like condemnation.”

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

There is a legend of a lighthouse far out to sea. It can’t be found on any map, and those who do find it never return. They say two ghosts haunt the lighthouse, and you can hear them laughing on the ocean waves.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](dearmrsawyer.tumblr.com).
> 
> [Here's](http://dearmrsawyer.tumblr.com/post/140559032578) the tumblr post for my fic!


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